


The Florist

by digthewriter



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-24
Updated: 2015-04-24
Packaged: 2018-03-25 11:31:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,415
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3808792
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/digthewriter/pseuds/digthewriter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Claiming to be looking for some normalcy in his life, Potter asks Draco for a job. Draco didn't think that they'd end up working so well together. But they do, and that’s <i>totally</i> weird.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Florist

**Author's Note:**

> **Warnings** : Cute and oblivious Draco. Cute and charming Harry.
> 
>  **Disclaimer** : Harry Potter characters are the property of J.K. Rowling and Bloomsbury/Scholastic. No profit is being made, and no copyright infringement is intended.

“I don’t need your charity!” Draco wants to say. Instead, he asks, “When can you start?”

Potter looks at him with such wide eyes and Draco knows that he hasn’t just shocked himself; he’s shocked Potter, too. 

“Are—are you serious?” Potter stumbles and Draco can’t help but roll his eyes. “I thought you were just going to make me come in, insult me, and then turn me down.”

“Why would I do that? I’m nothing, if not professional.” Draco sneers some more because he really doesn’t understand why Harry Potter, of all the people in the world, has asked him for a job. “You walked in here looking for employment, and I interviewed you. Perhaps it is I, who should wonder if _you_ are being serious.”

“Of—of course!” Potter says. “I need a change and I heard that you’ve opened up a flower shop so I thought I could try my luck.”

“Luck?” Draco asks with an eyebrow slightly raised. 

“If I’m honest with you...” Potter rakes a hand through his hair.

“Please, I insist,” Draco responds dryly; his arms are crossed and he still hasn’t unraised that eyebrow of his. 

“You are probably the only person in the wizarding world who won’t treat me like a celebrity. I mean, you’ll be my boss, right? Whenever I went on job interviews, employers were offering me tea and biscuits, and they were acting like I was interviewing them and it was just—weird.”

“I thought you were used to weird,” Draco says. 

Potter releases an exasperated sigh and Draco likes this side of him; he likes seeing Potter all bent out of shape. “I just want someone to like me for me, and not because I defeated Voldemort with sheer luck.”

“I reckon it was more than luck,” Draco says and catches himself; he’s just given Potter a compliment.

“No, not really,” Potter replies shrugging. “Anyway, I just want to learn a new trade which isn’t killing evil dark lords or chasing down bad guys. I just want to be—normal.”

“Alright, but I’ll have to be honest with you...” Draco pauses waiting for a response.

“Please, I insist,” Potter says; his tone isn’t as dry as Draco’s but enthusiastic.

“Part of the reason I am interested in hiring you is _because_ you are a celebrity. I need business since I haven’t had a paying customer in days. There are people that will stumble in but the moment they realise that it’s I who owns this shop, they will turn around and leave.” Potter’s scowling now, but Draco doesn’t pay any attention to it. If Potter’s so upset about being a celebrity, he should have just left the country or something. Of course, everyone is going to treat him differently; it’s just how everyone treats _Draco_ differently, too. “Listen, Potter. If that makes you change your mind—”

“No! Of course not.” Potter jumps in a little too quickly.

“Then what’s wrong with your face?”

Potter laughs at the question. _Laughs_. “I can’t believe that I’m going to say this now...” He pauses for a brief moment. “But I’ve missed you, Malfoy.”

“Missed me?” Draco asks sceptically. Potter’s relaxed since he came in through the door. He’s leaning back at the counter and even though his arms are crossed, he’s not being defensive. He’s just being...relaxed. 

“I’m not going to say that you weren’t a little shit while we were at Hogwarts, but, you’ve always treated me like I wasn’t any better than you—not saying that I was—but it’s just something refreshing of being told the truth to your face. Very few people in my life can manage that.”

“Like you weren’t a little shit,” Draco spits back and is just about to say that Potter can take his condescending arse out the door when Potter straightens up.

“Not saying that I wasn’t,” he says. “Just glad that you can be honest with me, is all.”

“Well, I’m honest with all my employees.”

“What employees?” Potter asks in a teasing tone.

“Whatever,” Draco says and turns to walk towards his office at the end of the shop. “Come back at eight o’clock in the morning and don’t be late. I’m going to deduct your pay for tardiness.”

“Yes, Sir!” Potter answers and even though Draco hasn’t turned around, he’s sure that Potter just saluted him. Cheeky bastard.

“You’re insufferable,” Draco says before he closes his office door behind him. 

-

Potter comes on time the next day. He’s on time the day after that, too. And the day after that. Much to Draco’s surprise, Potter is rather reliable. He listens intently when Draco gives him directions. He’s courteous to the customers and his smile almost always seems genuine, even if the customers are only there to verify for themselves that Harry Potter, is in fact, working at The Enchanted Florist.

It’s another week before Potter finally says something to the customers. “It’s nice to meet you, Mr Smith, but if you’re not going to buy anything, I’m not sure if I can continue chatting with you. I do have a lot of work to do, you know.” This is, of course, a lie because Draco hasn’t had a paying customer in almost two weeks now and there really isn’t much work to do. There’s only so much of cleaning and dusting Draco can tell Potter to do. Along with re-arranging the flowers alphabetically, by colour, and by volume.

“I don’t really have much use for flowers,” Terrence Smith says. Draco knows Smith very well, he had _laughed_ at Draco’s face when Draco had applied for the assistant clerk position at his potions shop. It had been Draco’s last resort and the man had told Draco that no one in the wizarding world in the UK would hire him. He’d be lucky if he was hired _anywhere_ in Europe. That’s when Draco had decided that opening up his own shop would be the best bet. He’d researched around looking for the best business opportunity and settled as being a Florist. He had a green thumb, thanks to his mum’s guidance, and even though there wasn’t much competition, his business was failing. 

It _was_.

Now? He somehow knew that Potter was going to bring him luck.

“Didn’t you just tell me that your wife is returning home from St Mungo’s this evening?” Potter asks as he steps around the counter and starts arranging a bouquet. Draco can tell that he clearly has no idea what he’s doing, but Smith doesn’t seem to care. “What’s her favourite flower?”

“I—uh—”

“Don’t tell me you don’t know!” Potter’s shock almost seems genuine. The man can act, Draco will give him that.

“It’s just my daughter is allergic and I—”

Draco is about to step in when Potter beats him to the punch. “Oh, don’t you know the _secret_ of The Enchanted Florist?” Potter’s voice is almost comical and he’s putting on quite a show so Draco stays back. 

“What is it?” Smith asks with gusto. 

“If you purchase antihistaminicum, the potion to mix in the water in the vase, the magic shields the pollen but keeps the freshness and the scent of the flowers! We will guarantee that no one in your household will have an allergic reaction!”

“I don’t know...” Smith is still hesitating and even if the man doesn’t make a purchase, Draco is happy to see that Potter is at least trying. That’s more than what Draco has managed to do with his few customers.

“Tell you what,” Potter says; he seems as stubborn as they come. He reaches into his pocket and brings forth a few coins. “I will buy you this small bouquet—”

“You’ll _what_?” Smith sounds horrified.

“For your wife. I will purchase this for your wife, and all you have to do is take a few of our business cards. If your wife likes the flowers, and your daughter doesn’t have a reaction to them, then you should spread the word around. Free of charge. _And_ you have to promise me that you’ll be back to let me make a proper sell!”

“Mr Potter, I assure you, you shouldn't _have_ to—”

“I _want_ to,” Potter says. “I just believe _that_ much in our products.” Potter gives Smith his winning smile and the Draco can see the man’s resolve breaking. 

“Fine. Fine. Fine,” Smith says shaking his head. “But I must insist on paying for antihistaminicum myself!”

“Certainly,” Potter replies and finalises the deal. 

When the man is out the door, Draco comes out of his office and Potter’s face is lit up like the Christmas tree at Hogwarts.

“Did you see!” he says, excited. “My first sale!”

“Yes. You basically sold it to yourself,” Draco says, maybe a bit harsher than he’d intended since Potter’s face fell that instant. “I mean, good call on the advertising bit. It’s not a bad idea to give out free samples to get the word across town.”

Potter’s face is beaming again and Draco finds himself thinking that the smile could rather be infectious. So he decides to insult Potter again. “I’m not going to give you a sales bonus for putting your own money in the till.”

“Of course.” Potter nods. “What did you think about my flower arrangement, though?”

Draco takes a deep breath. There’s being honest, and then there’s being vindictive for just the sake of it. He isn’t sure which route he should take. 

“That bad, huh?” Potter asks, his smile faltering.

“Well. I think you need to practice more,” Draco says with a hint of encouragement. He still needs Potter to work here.

“I just don’t know if I’ll ever get a hang of it,” Potter says, sounding dispirited. He walks around the shop and starts picking up random flowers trying to arrange them in a setting.

Draco walks up to him and grabs the arrangement that he’s just botched up. “If you ever get confused, always remember, less is more. Especially with woody stems. Try to perfect one form before moving onto another.”

Potter nods and looks at Draco’s hand in awe as he moves the stems around and uses an oblong vase instead of the large cylindrical one that Potter’s holding. 

The clock above the door chimes informing Draco that it’s time to close up shop for half an hour for lunch. He’s about to relieve Potter from his shift when Potter speaks up first. 

“I’m going to the café around the corner; can I interest you in joining me?”

Draco shakes his head. He doesn’t socialise much with the other business owners around him. He hasn’t had the best of luck with them. “I’ve packed my own lunch,” he says and walks up to the glass door of the shop to place the “Back in 30 minutes,” sign. Even though he’s sure that no one is actually going to come looking in, anyway.

Potter just stands there and watches him. Draco can feel his eyes on him but he doesn’t react. He strides by Potter and then locks himself up in his office. He’s not sure what Potter’s problem is and he’s not about to start.

-

Two days later, there’s a line outside the shop as Draco approaches it. 

“What now?” he mumbles to himself. He _has_ all the permits to have his flower shop in Diagon alley and he isn’t sure what this crowd is going to protest about now. This isn’t the first time he’s faced the wrath of angry wizards who just can’t seem to mind their own business, and he’s sure it won’t be the last.

“What?” he snaps at the woman standing first in line, looking into the shop.

“You talk to your employer with that attitude?” the woman retorts.

“My employer?” Draco says with a surprise.

“Yes. Don’t you work for Harry Potter?”

“I—uh—what?”

“Harry Potter. Boy, don’t you know who that is?”

“ _Yes_ , I know who that is. He works here. Yes,” Draco says, still slightly confused.

“I got the business card for the shop. I need to buy a bouquet of flowers for my mother’s grave,” the woman says as though Draco is the most dense man she’s ever come across.

“What does that have to do with Potter?”

“Well, Mr Potter was giving out business cards for his shop and if I needed anything—”

“Oh,” Draco says opening the door and allowing the woman, and the herd of people following her, in. “Of course. Please, look around.”

Draco settles his things behind the counter when the woman looks up and asks him a question about cemetery flowers. He rushes towards her and answers all her questions. At eight o’clock, Potter walks in through the front door. Then, all the customers divert their attention from the flowers to him. 

People are huddled around him and Draco is sure that this was all just an excuse for them to just come and see Potter. He’s feeling defeated and realises that perhaps hiring Potter wasn’t really _that_ smart after all. His business still hasn’t picked up.

Much to Draco’s surprise, Potter walks away from the group and heads straight towards Draco. “Good morning, Mr Malfoy.”

 _What_? “Erm. Good—good morning, Potter.”

“Mr Potter, do you mind if I ask you a question,” a woman says after she’s cut through the crowd and approached them. 

“Is it about flowers?” Potter asks.

“Well, actually, no,” the woman says.

Potter lifts his arms up, shrugging. “Then, I’m sorry I can’t help you. I’m on the job and anything personal or otherwise will have to wait until lunch time.” He gives the woman a sympathetic look before she frowns, shoots a glare at Draco, and then walks away.

“You could have talked to her,” Draco says. 

“I know. But if I make an exception for one, they’ll all want to talk and I thought you wanted to sell some flowers.” Potter grins at him before he takes off his bag, his travelling cloak, and then returns his attention to the crowd. 

He still has no idea what he’s talking about but the crowd, again, doesn’t seem to mind. When someone does ask him a complicated question, he gives Draco a quizzical look before Draco sweeps in to the rescue.

If Draco is honest with himself, which he almost always is, he actually likes this set up. He finds himself thinking that he and Potter, actually make quite the team. That really is something he never thought he’d find himself thinking, or believing, but it is. What’s even more bizarre is that Draco isn’t completely horrified by the idea. 

Maybe he’s growing up. Maybe Potter is, too.

-

“Lunch?” Potter asks as he places the much needed sign on the glass door and pulls down the curtain. Draco can’t believe that he actually has a thriving business going now that there really _are_ people lining outside. 

Potter’s been working with him for almost two months now and his fame has finally started to work for Draco’s advantage. So much so that wizards come into the shop even on Potter’s days off and they ask Draco questions and buy masses of bouquets from _him_.

“No, thanks. I’ve brought—”

“I know, me too.” Potter holds up a small brown bag next to his face and smiles. “I figured you’re saving money or something by packing your lunch so I started doing that too.”

“You make your own lunch?” Draco asks, sceptic. 

Potter looks sheepish before his gaze falls on the floor and he mumbles, “Mrs Weasley...”

“What, Potter? Didn’t quite hear you.”

“I asked Mrs Weasley to make me lunch,” Potter says looking up, his eyes challenging.

“Why do _you_ need to save money? I thought you didn’t even _need_ a job. You were just doing this to get out of the house.”

Potter sighs and tosses his small brown bag on the counter next to the till. “You never want to go out for lunch and well, how am I supposed to talk to you otherwise?”

“We talk all the time, Potter.”

“Yeah, about work. We never _talk_.”

“Okay...” Draco drawls. “What do you want to talk about?”

“I don’t know!” Potter’s flailing his arms around like he’s completely lost it. “Me. You. Everything.”

Draco raises an eyebrow at Potter’s crazy act. 

“What do you do on the weekends?” Potter asks.

“I work. You know the shop is open every day. If you’re not working doesn’t mean I just close up shop.”

“Fine. What do you do when you’re not working?”

“I brew potions. I do research on how to keep the flowers fresh and—”

Potter groans. “What do you do for fun?”

“I read.”

“For Merlin’s sake, Malfoy! When was the last time you flirted with someone? When was the last time you went to a pub? Had a fling?”

“I don’t see how that is any of your business, Potter.” Draco folds his arms and glowers at Potter. 

“Malfoy...” Potter is exasperatingly exhausting. Really. “We’ve been working together almost every day for two months. Don’t you think we should be friends?”

“We’re colleagues,” Draco says, determinedly.

“What if I want to be more than colleagues?”

“Fine. You want to be friends?” Draco asks, still thoroughly confused.

Potter takes a step closer to Draco. “What if I want to be more than friends?” Potter is definitely in Draco’s personal space now and Draco’s back is pressed against the counter. “What if I told you that I’ve been thinking about kissing you. Every day.”

“Every day?” Draco asks and Potter nods. His fingers trace Draco’s jaw line and his eyes are constantly flickering between Draco’s eyes and his lips. “For two months?”

Potter meets Draco’s gaze and he pins him there. “For about six weeks.”

Draco doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t know what to say. 

“Tell me, Malfoy. Why did you start this shop?”

“No one would hire me,” Draco says truthfully. And well, because, I thought at least the flowers liked me back. 

“Why wouldn’t they hire you?”

“Because I’m a former Death Eater and they wouldn’t give me a chance to prove myself.”

“Why do people keep coming in here, then?”

“Because of you. Because you’re a celebrity and—”

“That’s the reason they walk in through the door. But, why do they keep buying flowers. Keep coming back?” Potter asks, he’s stepped closer and their robes rustle against each other. 

Draco’s having trouble breathing. Still, he manages to say, “I don’t know. Because you won’t talk to them otherwise?”

“No. That’s not all true.”

“It’s not?”

“They keep coming back because they like _you_. Because the way you talk about the flowers, the arrangements. _You_ listen to their sob stories and _you_ suggest ways to make their day brighter.”

“They like—like _me_?” 

“Yes.”

“And you?” Draco licks his lower lip and his throat feels dry. Potter’s pressed himself even closer now.

“I like you too.”

“Is that why _you_ keep coming back?”

Potter smiles and his eyes light up again. “I like you because of the way you treat me. It’s why I keep coming back.”

“How’s that?” Draco asks; he wants to wrap his arm around Potter’s waist, but he refrains.

“Like, I’m your equal. Not better. Not less. Equal.”

“Well, you deserved it. You’re a good worker,” Draco says and then winces at his own words. Potter doesn’t seemed to mind though.

“You bring your lunch every day,” Potter says, and Draco nods. “Don’t bring one tomorrow.”

“Why?”

“Because I want to take you on a date tomorrow. We’ll go to the café around the corner and we’ll sit across from each other. We’ll talk and we’ll be _more_ than colleagues.”

Draco nods. It’s all he can do right now before Potter pulls back and straightens himself up. 

“I thought you were going to kiss me.” Did he just _say_ that? What is wrong with Draco?

Potter smirks at him and Draco can feel his insides turn. “Do you want me to kiss you?”

“It’s okay if you’ve changed your mind,” Draco says before he heads towards his office. 

“I haven’t changed my mind,” Potter says, pulling on Draco’s arm. “I just figured we’d go on a proper date before I try to shag the boss.” He winks at Draco and smirks again.

“You’re insufferable, Potter,” Draco says and grabs Potter by the arm. 

Right before Draco kisses him, Potter replies. “I know, or you so keep telling me.”

* * *

fin

* * *


End file.
